Tinder Up in Smoke

Oh no! Tinder is broken. This is the worst thing ever! At first I can’t get into the app and then when I do it informs me that it’s lost all my matches – around five hundred last time I checked. And then I can’t open Tinder at all anymore. Alerts flash up that I have a new match or a new message, but I can’t access them.
This brings home forcefully in a way that nothing else could just how dependent online dating is on, well, being able to get online. These boys, my five hundred or so matches, are nothing but names and faces on a screen. When the app is not working then I can’t correspond with my matches and I have nothing to show for all my hard work exchanging messages with them. Facebook had been down, Tinder is accessed through Facebook, so this is the problem, not that this knowledge helps at all.
The minutes and sometimes even hours of small talk have all vanished in a puff of smoke, as if they had never existed: my bright young things now mere ghosts of matches past.
Disconsolate, I comfort myself that at least I’ve got the phone numbers of a few of my boys stored in What’s App on my phone: about ten of the chaps who I have been engaging in longer-term, more detailed and more regular chats with. These are all ones who are abroad and can’t meet at the moment, so I’m unlikely to secure dates with them immediately, but at least I have a way of corresponding with them that I can access without Tinder.
Tortured by the “New Match” and “New Message” alerts still trickling in – how are other people able to send messages I wonder – I put the Colombia vs Greece build up on, and that cheers me up. Here is actual Alan Hansen – the star pundit who is about to retire and has cut his workload considerably – here is the urbane silver and orange fox Gary Lineker. We are in safe hands for this match, I think.
It is pointless to worry about what will happen to this project if Tinder is permanently broken. If Tinder doesn’t recover then I will just have to get out in the real world and actually meet some men, I think, sipping my coffee and watching the green-clad Ivorians and yellow-clad Colombians zooming around the pitch.

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